to all of us who represent the company...

Hey friends! We haven't shot the breeze in at least two months. This is partially because I have no idea in what manner one should shoot breeze. Bullets keep flying right through it and I'm never sure if I'm doing it right. Vat of jello, fine. Kiddy pool full of guacamole, ok. Then we'd have something to shoot stuff at as well as conversate about. Yes, I just said conversate.

Check out the site this weekend, there are amazing treasures to behold for half the price, starting February 17th.

Thanks to a friend who knows what's what (who wrote a book; go get it because it's one of my favourites of 2011), I found this guy named Guante today. It's not a HUUUUGE secret that I spend about 32+ hours of my week serving the general public of Toronto a certain type of beverage with a certain popular symbol stamped on a certain kind of partially-recyclable cup. I have spent the last 4 years of my life doing this in some capacity, and prior to that (throughout high school, university and college) I was serving the general public of St. Catharines as a cashier at a grocery store.

People have been telling me for years that it takes a 'certain kind of person' to stay in a customer service or retail job. They're right. We are the perfect combination of friendly, over-achieving, pacifistic problem-solvers. We apologize when it's not even close to being our fault, we smile when we want to strangle you, and we pretend it doesn't bother us when you decide you're in the mood to pretend like we're not human beings. I have a ton of friends, loved ones, and a mother that work to make people with no manners happy on a daily basis. What they do (and what I do) matters to me, a lot. Just so you know.

I liked this.

When Secret Santa Simply Won't Do. Cuz Boys Are Stupid.

Chompstain's Log, 11:14am on Wednesday December 28th, 2011.

That reads like 'chomp stain.' I do not like it. Some new words were never meant to be coined.

Dear Diary,

This has been a really great year. I can't wait for Christmas when all of us get together around the yule-thing and sing something-carols about non-denominational babies who were conceived questionably. We're playing this game called Yankee Swap. You may or may not have seen an episode of The Office, Season 1, wherein the employees partake in an ill-thought out gift robbery that originally started out as a Secret Santa. Pam comes to her senses in the end and gets her teapot back.

I'm not really a White Elephant kind of girl, but because some of the guys are hitters and I don't really feel like entering the Octagon this holiday season, I'm going to acquiesce.

Things I Am Probably Going to Buy for Yankee Swap (we have to shoot for approximately $15.00)

1. Hair elastics - the ones that will go in even short hair. Serves them right. They wanted to play Yankee Swap and now they've gotta use this gift. Have fun looking like that one dude from The Prodigy.

2. Two chocolate pudding cups - because it's Christmas, and I've got a heart.

3. Mistletoe - nobody knows what it actually looks like because people get it confused with holly. Someone will probably throw it in the salad thinking that a piece of arugula went astray. It looks nothing like arugula either, but I bet you don't know what arugula looks like, Diary.

4. Creepy head scratcher thing that Andrew has. - Not buying this for anyone. Stealing it in order to get rid of it because it's like a futuristic alien fingernail-claw and it makes me uncomfortable. It's also clearly what everyone's parents were talking about when they said "it's all fun and head-scratchy til' someone loses an eye." TAKE IT. TAKE IT AWAY.

I'm not a monster, I'll give him a different one instead. HAHA! Look at that thing! Does it double as a lawn-mower?

5. A three dollar Amazon.ca gift card. - this will cover somebody's annoying S&H costs. Maybe.

6. Neon orange Bic lighter - It's sitting on my nightstand for some reason, and I don't really need it right now. Hopefully whoever gets it will let me borrow it when the time comes.

7. One tea light - This way the receiver doesn't have to commit to a legitimate candle that they may or may not use regularly to make the burning time worthwhile. An unused candle functions as nothing more than a dust collector, but a tea light only burns for like three hours and it's SUPER easy to throw out with the rest of the crappy gifts I've put together in this list. It also necessitates the bic lighter. I AM AN EFFICIENT GIFT-GIVER.

8. Creamy Garlic Dipping Sauce - Someone WILL use this. It's the most thoughtful thing so far.

9. Bag of penne rigate - Because I have one in my pantry. What's up.

10. A Kinder egg airplane that won't fly. Chocolate not included.

There, Diary. That entry took me about a week to write. Seven days to come up with ten crappy gifts. Forgive me, nine crappy gifts and one terrifying one.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Chomps

Top Ten Halloween 'Stumes

READY? LET'S GO.

10. House Fly - black turtleneck, black pants, black bra on your face. Bra must be of the under-wire variety. I haven't tested this out, but it FEELS successful as an idea. You need wings for this one too because otherwise you'll just end up looking like an underwear-sniffer.

9. Underwear Sniffer

8. a Quilt - there's two ways to go about this one. Step one: drape quilt over shoulders. Step two: find bed at party and use quilt to sleep under. People are gonna be jealous, you've got my blog-antee. That's a blog guarantee. It's worth almost nothing.

7. Occupy Wall Street - Carry a sign that reads 'we are the 99%', and when people ask you "the 99% of what?" you can say whatever you want! "The 99% of the AWESOME AT THIS PAAAAARTTYYYY!!!! WOOOOOO!" It might be insensitive, but so am I.

6. Drunken Mess - nobody ever thinks to go as this, and yet everybody always ends up as this. Can we cut out the middle man, por favor?

5. Shooting Star(s) - roman candles. Done.

4. Lord Voldemort - black cloak, white face make-up, roman candles. Done.

3. Amy Winehouse dressed as Steve Jobs dressed as Randy Savage.

2. Whatever your friend told you they were going as in secret because they didn't want anybody else to steal their idea. Unless theirs is something dumb. Don't go as anything dumb.

and the TOP 'STUME OF TWO THOUSAND AND ELEVENTYHUNDRED?

Bachelorette Party - Picture this: twelve to fourteen women carrying around penis straws, plastic leis and unbelievably ugly homemade t-shirts covered in each other's signatures. Pretend like you have NO IDEA what night it is. The commitment? One of you will barf twice in the washroom, one of you will get in a fight, and one of you will end the night in tears. WOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

HAPPY HALLOWIZZLE,

LOVE,

Chomps

We Don't Give an F, S my D, How Many Licks and other insightful track titles.

HAAAAAAAAI,

I'm gonna be straight up with youse. I, Chelsea 'Chomps' Maria 'Chip on my Shoulder' Freeman have been struggling with things of mid-sized importance to internet-write about.

Here's a list though:

Things and People That Should've Given Up Already:

1. This fuckin' thing. Did you barf in your mouth? I have been for years, just remembering that it exists. It's a geoduck. For starters it's pronounced ridiculously unlike how it's spelled. That makes me angry almost immediately. For seconders LOOK AT IT. It's my nightmare. It's what will rule the world eventually and it's probably what will take power FROM the robots.

2. Nicolas Cage (this one's for you, Bean): SERIOUSLY? The guy has one facial expression, and it's "My puppy just died because I fed it a steady diet of the movies I star in." David Schwimmer slides in pretty close but he had the good sense to typecast himself early on in his career with a crew of others who still somehow manage to warm my heart regardless of their syndication. Wanna fight me about Friends? Shit's good, so shut up. Actually, Nicolas was ssshmmaaaalright in Kick Ass. But remember how little you had to see his face? Exactly.

3. Lil Kim.

4. Bloggers. Right? I know.

5. Videos of baby animals. I've had enough. I've had enough of the bunnies, and the kittens, and the weird stories about hippopotamuses and tortoises forming life-long friendships. I've had enough of human babies too! What with their squishy faces when they eat pickles and the way they giggle because they don't have the good sense to hide their happiness on the inside.

aaaaaaaah GOTCHA! I love that stuff. You guys are turd-hearted esses of b's if you were like "FINALLY! Someone else says it!"

I'm not sayin' it. I'm not sayin' it at all.

lulz,

Chomps

Don't ask and you're probably still going to receive...cuz it's my day off.

HAAAAAAAAY!

I haven't verbed the noun 'blog' in liiike four weeks. Here are some reasons why:

1. Inspiration to yammer on about almost nothing in particular is fleeting.

2. Most of the inspired yammering I've been doing this summer is through my mouth on to unsuspecting friends and family. It occurs to me now that an online reader is less likely to walk away or slap me in the pie-hole so maybe it's better this way.

3. I'm busy! Okay? Enough with the texts and the phone calls and the other stuff that would happen if people were bothering me to write something. I've got sandwiches to eat and jokes to laugh at!

So there's all of those. Then there's the illicit stuff I can't tell you about because it would incriminate the company in its entirety and we'd have to offer up Ken's beard for bail money (because his chin follicles are genetically modified to produce a small portion of diamond dust in every burly facial strand) and probably sell Eric for a couple packs of cigarettes that we could hide the miniature pick-axes required to peck our way out of the dimly lit cell that we'd line with pin-ups of...of...Smurfette.

Smurfy, smurfy Smurfette. The first two adjectives were 'sexy' and 'easy'.

The above reason is slightly improbable, knowing that they'd never put a female in a prison cell with three other males. Or the same prison. Other than that it'd probably go down that way. Especially the Smurfette part.

I will tell you what's comin' up though. Our friend, my co-blogger and hetero life partner/confidante Mel Smith is getting married this month. I'll be standing up there with her while she makes some really amazing promises to her wonderful husband-to-be and then all of us are going to drink and eat until bail from Ken's chin becomes a very real ass-saving device once again. Keep in mind Andrew's coming as my date so please expect to see some photos of me trying to force feed him all of the foods he's allergic to. WHEN I *WEDDING-PARTY, I **WEDDING-PARTY HARD.

Other than that, have a ridiculously awesome Labour Dabour. Or Labor Dabor if you can't spell.

Chomps

*I've never been in a wedding party before so this statement is just anticipatory.

** Anticipatory WITH A CHANCE OF HARDNESS.

Conflict in the Workplace

Reporting to you live from my back deck on a dining room chair that is super uncomfortable. It's also not 'finished' properly so it's sticking to my back and I'm pretty sure varnish is somehow embedded in my skin. God I'm so hxc.

The title has nothing to do with problems I'm having at work. I was just sort of awkwardly mashing melba toasts and sweet potato dip into my mouth and I got to thinking about how we identify conflict based on location instead of based on people.

Basic Conflict Resolution Troubleshooting:

You're having a disagreement? First things first, WHERE are you?

Not: Is this person mentally unstable? Are they capable of biting you in the jugular?
Not: Who is this person to you? Loved one? Acquaintance? Unstable jugular-bitey crazy stranger?
Not: Is this person having a bad day, a bad week, a bad life?
Not: Is this person a lot like you?
Not: Is this person nothing like you?

I think we way too often choose to ignore the humanity in each other when we bump skulls, or fenders, or belief systems, or egos, or Blackberries, or whatever the fug people bump around with these days.

Consider what you have to defend. What you want to defend. Consider how the other person feels about these same things. Don't consider the walls that house you or the policies that prohibit you.

Something something cue warm fuzzies.

daaaaaaaaw,
Chomps

Accurate Biographies That Don't Require Any Fact-Checking

D'you guys know Eric, Ken and Andrew intimately?

Do you wish you did?

Take it back. That's gross.

I've got a few things to share. Some are naked photos, some are delightful anecdotes and choose-your-own-adventurey tales wherein you the reader will probably feel a wide range of emotions (greatest of which being love) as you soak in what I knowz about these guys.

Let's start with Eric. I met Eric some twenty-seven years ago working at the anvil factory in Western Hill, St. Catharines. It was probably about 3:53pm and my workmates and I were just about to take the faulty anvils over to the aforementioned Hill for a good roll-about when a lanky yet somehow still incredibly muscular man approached me with what looked uncannily like a tire iron and a dead ferret. Though the objects were 'unrelated' to one another I had a pretty good feeling about this guy's jib and the cut it originated from. That summer we didn't tire iron at least sixty ferrets to death. We didn't learn taxidermy either so I'm hard-pressed to explain where my lifeless weasel army came from.

Ken. Keeeeen, Keeeen, Keeen, Keen, Ken. Kn. I don't know if anyone's familiar with the actual terrain between Sneaky Dee's at College and Bathurst and the intersection of Queen and Coxwell, but this year there was a night of nachos and other demi-cooked Mexican-ish foods that started with a loud proclamation like "THIS IS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!" and ended with our beloved hero walking the approximate 8 km back to the hotel, terrifying locals with his surly gait and threatening facial hair. We lost Ken for a solid couple of hours but were mostly not worried because his ape-like skull usually bounces right off of hard surfaces, and the Don Valley Bridge is pretty sturdy from what I hear.

Lastly but never leastly there's Andrew. The man who made me guess what his middle name was for nearly eight solid days and nights because he made up a "ten guesses at a time" rule. The man whose caveman diet has basically transformed any of his refined habits into grunting and striking small animals (and women who talk back) with wooden/stone composite modernized (possibly also galvanized?) cave-people clubs. It took me at least five minutes to remember that cave-people used clubs. I kept wanting to say bats, which is coincidental because Andrew's also the guy who Babe Ruth was pointing to on October 1st, 1932 when he called his own home run. Up til' now y'all probably thought he was pointing at a seagull or a futuristic (to the folks at the time) blimp. NOPE. ANDREW.

World Series trivia aside, anybody would be lucky to have these dudes in their life. Send them e-mails! Tell them you feel the same way! Wear protective headgear around ALL of them. You think I'm joking but I've never been more morbidly serious.

Be careful.

Chomps